


Breeding Pens

by justwriting (orphan_account)



Series: Age of Apocalypse Drabbles [2]
Category: Age of Apocalypse (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Discrimination, Gore, Medical Experimentation, Medical Torture, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Physical Abuse, Psychological Torture, Racism, The Pens are similar to WWII concentration camps, Torture, Verbal Abuse, Xenophobia, because AoA
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-01 18:32:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2783402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/justwriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles set in the Age of Apocalypse Breeding Pens. No smut, minor swearing, probably a lot of violence.</p><p>I'm probably going to run out of ideas pretty quickly, so any suggestions - characters you'd like to read or situations you'd like to see - are welcome!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Purple

**Author's Note:**

> Please remember the context of these drabbles: Age of Apocalypse was a harsh wartime setting with plots that focused strongly on discriminatory themes. These drabbles *WILL* contain racism, sexism, ableism, homophobia and any handful of other discriminating behaviors. It *WILL* contain heavy violence, because the characters are individuals who live in a society where anything and everything detrimental is acceptable and encouraged, as long as it's done by a mutant to a human. They are also canonically portrayed as brutal and harsh.
> 
> I, as the author, do not condone any of these behaviors, nor am I expressing hatred against any race, religion, sex/gender/orientation, or disability via these drabbles.
> 
> The rating explicit is for Chapter 4. 1-3 are a teen and up rating.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interaction between Clarice Ferguson (Blink), and Henry McCoy (Dark Beast). She is still very young, and he hasn't yet experimented himself to dark and furry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll put a warning at the start of each chapter so that you know what you're getting into.
> 
> This one contains: Torture, non-sensual bondage, description of life in the Pens (which are death camps), and a sedative injection.

"And how is young Miss Ferguson today, hm?"

The girl who was being addressed didn't answer except to thrash against her bonds and the deceptively smooth and gentle hands that were currently holding her toes. She couldn't answer. Her mouth was covered and held firmly shut by a tight-fitting piece of fabric that came down around her neck and up just below her nose.

"Oh, do stay still now, dear," her captor smiled widely and with a sort of mirth that felt distinctly twisted and dark. Clarice shut her eyes tightly to try to shut out the smirk. She knew that it meant pain. Intense, drowning pain. "One might have thought by this time that we'd be _friends_. After all, Clarice, I know you _so_ very well."

She opened her eyes and stared furiously at the man. _Y'don't know nothin about me, McCoy, an' y'never will,_ she wanted to retort back at him. But she couldn't.

Even if she could, it wouldn't have been true, or safe to say. Neither would it have stopped the quick squeeze on her feet before he let go to retrieve his clipboard, or prevented his dreadfully soothing voice from rolling on.

"...but one would have to be incredibly dull not to realize that a friendship would hardly be possible in these circumstances. Do you happen to know what occasion this is, Clarice?"

The man looked over at her with a raised brow, waiting expectantly and demanding that the girl respond. Blink shook her head, as much as it galled her proud little spirit to give in at all.

"Today just happens to be the third anniversary of your arrival here," he filled in with another wide, unnerving smile. "Congratulations."

Clarice lay and watched him, dumbfounded. Congratulations were certainly in order. The purple-skinned mutant had watched many children her age - when she'd first been imprisoned here, she was only nine - die over the last three years. Many, many children, some not even able to speak yet. Some died slowly, some quickly, some were executed, some died of disease, most from a combination of torture and starvation. For adults to last three years in the Pens, with keepers like Henry 'the Beast' McCoy and rations smaller than a free citizen, was unlikely; for a growing female child to survive three years was exceptionally rare.

"I have to say, I am impressed with your durability, considering how many times you've been on this table," he went on, prepping a new machine and rolling it over. He gave her another wide, dark smile. "So we're going to try something new."

Clarice's eyes widened, and then the membrane over them closed, opened, several times. She pulled frantically at her bonds but couldn't get out.

"Calm down, little one. It's not even attached to you yet," McCoy admonished, fully expecting the girl to continue struggling - which she did. He clipped electrodes to her fingers and lifted her head just enough to push two needles into her neck. Another one directly over her heart, one more into her torso, the vital organs. They would branch long microwires which would attach to organs and nerves and send back streams of data in readings. "Oh, yes," Henry hummed, as if he'd forgotten, and carefully inserted one intravenous. "Just little pulses, over the next day or two, to condition you. Then we'll move on to the more painful voltages. Your body will be supplied with nutrients through the IV. Just think, you'll finally get a full meal!"

The machine started buzzing quietly, and the doctor picked up his bag and clipboard. Clarice made muffled noises, trying to ask him to stay. Better to have him there if she went critical.

"You're a big girl now, Clarice! Twelve years old - why, you're almost a teenager! You don't need me to hold your hand," Henry admonished, with a smile. Always with a smile. Always sounding so chipper and friendly. He stopped by the door of the lab - one of many little experimenting rooms - and turned back to her, leaned against the door. "I'll tell you what, though. I will stay and hold your hand on your fifth anniversary if you like. And your seventh, and your ninth. But you'll have to ask, dear. None of this moaning and whining. Well, you could do that too, on your ninth, but do ask."

Clarice was done listening to him. She stopped paying attention, just struggled in the bonds.

He sighed and took a syringe from the coded panel by the doorway. "I suppose I should give you a little something, hm?" Dull. It was so very dull to simply _sedate_ patients. If he ran the Pens, they wouldn't be sedated. He'd have them contained some more entertaining and efficient way. He didn't particularly have time to think of what way at this moment, but he would. He'd come up with something.

The girl's magenta limbs relaxed, a milky pink haze covered her beady black eyes, and her body trembled with the small shocks of electricity that jolted through it. Henry watched her for several moments.

"Perceived attachment. The patient can't leave without losing something dear to them. Hm..." the doctor ruminated over the idea. What to give that they can't let go of? It was time to move on to the next patient, of course. He couldn't merely stand _here_ and ponder all day. "Sweet dreams, Clarice," he waved her goodbye and exited the room, the guards locking the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . . .can you tell Henry reminds me of Hannibal? 
> 
> Next up: Summers drama. Chris's lovely time in this five-star hotel.


	2. Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christopher Summers. . .surviving torture by looking behind and ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains: mentions of torture and implied xenophobia.

Four years, one hundred and twenty-two days.

Christopher had numbered every one of them. Maybe he was off by a couple, maybe time hadn't always passed at the same pace, but he knew that he'd spent almost five years here. Five years being picked apart and cut open and observed and experimented upon. Five years listening for rare talk about the powers who were in play now - Apocalypse, Sinister, Prelates.

Christopher had been home for five years, but nothing was right about it.

Earth was so different. It wasn't the beautiful, peaceful home it used to be. The air was heavy and rank, the atmosphere blackened and clouded and there was a hot tang to everything. Every now and then there was a rumble under the ground from the planet's unsettled tectonic plates. The few people Christopher saw were either monsters fit to rival the Brood or so deep into depression that light might not even exist for them anymore.

Everything about this place had changed, grown toxic. It seeped into his soul just like the other people - the monsters and the ones wasting away - but Christopher never let himself go like that. He had a goal. His sons were still out there. He had to tell them about these plots, the way Sinister had kept him tucked away as private property, the experimenting that was being done on people. Had to warn them about these agents of Apocalypse and these 'Prelate' lackeys of his.

Whenever he faltered in his goal, began to doubt that he'd ever get out or that his sons were still alive, he held onto these memories from before it all.

Before the Starjammers, before the Shi'ar and the Brood and the battles he and his comrades had warred against the parasitic species, before the experimentation and the death of his dear wife. . .before all that, there were memories. Dear, clean memories. Alex and Scott playing in the backyard, he and Katherine sitting on the porch together. The smell of fresh Alaska air and the taste of lemonade, the voices of their sons and the music playing in the house. 

Later memories, more unsettled: the beginning of it all. News reports of alien broadcasts in cities, rumors of a crazed dictator taking over America, moving North with obliterating force. . .One day the Summers family got wind that Alaska was about to be invaded. They packed overnight and got in a plane, heading for the mountains: the one uninhabited, untouched, peaceful place.

The plane went down. They had been hit by something, the plane was going down, and there were only three parachutes. Katherine and Chris got the boys in their jackets. "Alex, you take care of your brother." Scott was always the grown-up, calm one, but Alex had the brawn, the passion. "Scott, you take care of you and your brother, too, okay? You'll see your mother on the ground, boys. I love you." He made sure they were holding their release straps, sent them down. Alex was doing his best to be brave, was nodding at his father's instructions and trying not to cry. Scott was confused, but was absorbing the information. That was alright, everything would be okay once Chris and Katherine landed. Once Katherine landed. There was still only one more parachute. She had already pulled it on, so Christopher was checking it for safety. The release strap was broken: the parachute couldn't open. The horror of the realization struck, that their boys would be without a mother or father. . . And then this yellow light, this blinding bright light that made them weightless, unable to move, that drew them up while the plane continued to fall and then crashed into the earth. . .

Pain. Horrible, unbearable pain. Katherine died. Christopher made it out with the others, but not out of the pure will to survive that so many of them had. Chris didn't have that burning passion to stay alive for his own sake. He would've given up without Katherine if not for Scott and Alex. He couldn't give up. The boys had to have a father if they couldn't have a mother. He had to be there for them, protect them from this atmosphere, reaffirm what he'd taught them, validate their emotions and actions and reassure them that they were valued. His boys needed him.

Christopher hung onto the memories, the goal, and optimism. He was here on Earth, in the pain again, still so far away from them but so many lightyears closer. Still imprisoned and unknown to his sons, but no longer on ships and at distances that so definitely barricaded him from them.

Something else was creating a barrier. Chris had blank spaces in his recent memories. Hours, sometimes days, that were just missing. Maybe he'd only been here for four years. Maybe he'd been here for six. Something was inside him, lurking at the edges of his mind. He didn't know what it was, but the gaps in his awareness of time were a clue that ate away at him. They reminded him of instance after instance where good men and women had been turned into. . .but no, he couldn't accept that as his fate. He loathed the possibility too much to accept it, and he couldn't allow it to come true, not yet.

No. No, it wasn't _that_. It couldn't possibly be _that_.

Whatever it was, Christopher resolved, he was going to find his sons before it got worse. _If_ it got worse. They needed him. They needed him, so he would summon up all the strength he had, even under these blades and machines, and he would get to them any way he could.

Christopher held dearly to those memories and kept his goal clearly in the front of his mind. He refused to accept defeat for four years, one hundred and twenty-two days.

The door to his cell opened, so Summers raised his head to face the scientist, as he always did. The intense, throbbing headache pain didn't matter. This was how he fought.

Clipboard, mug of coffee, dehumanizing greeting. Doc's rounds.

He had to get out and get to his boys.

Four years, one hundred, and twenty-three days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...not what I expected to write, but I have a very clear picture of Christopher's muse in mind now, so that's awesome!
> 
> I may tackle abusive treatment of prisoners by the guards next. Or try Blink again, I'm not sure. We'll see!


	3. Are Two Heads Better than One?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blink is much stronger now, and little older - by the relative time established in Ch. 1 (nine years old on arrival), she is fifteen.
> 
> Henry is dark grey and furry at this point. He has a playmate to work with, this scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains: a sexual reference and brief related swearing; naming, but not use, of a medieval-level torture device; dehumanizing pronouns; peer-to-peer verbal and physical abuse.
> 
> Also, there are very few times that I will describe a character as physically ugly. This is one of those times.

Clarice had lost count of how many times.

Back and forth, poke and prod, one, two, fifteen, forty, again, again, again, again.

She was feeling weak, used up, exhausted, hopeless. She kept reaching and changing and molding the space around her, kept making the long, empty tunnels to. . .here, to the rest of the space in the little cage in which they held her. Kept doing it, kept reaching and molding and spending herself. 

It wasn't new, what they were doing. They'd done it once a year since she'd gotten here. Every year, run new tests to see how much the power's grown. The first year it was only little portals, from one side of a table to the other. It got stronger every year, by a lot, and Clarice was terrified that maybe she'd rip the portals apart with other portals and disintegrate into nothing with them or something. She wanted to stop. The two that she had going now nearly consumed all the space in the cage and she wanted to stop before something horrible happened, but they knew what kinds of pain would force her to keep going. 

They'd keep doing it, too, the shocks and the headaches, if she ever faltered.

Clarice was starting to reach the point of exhaustion where she just didn't care.

"That will be enough, Miss Ferguson," the sickly soothing voice came over the loudspeaker in the cage. "You may stop."

The teenager blinked - literally - and the disconnected look in her black eyes refocused, but she didn't stop. Clarice wasn't sure she was really allowed to. Maybe if it was just McCoy, maybe she'd trust that, but not when the other one was there, too. It was awful when both of them were there.

"What is it, Clarice? Would you _like_ us to continue?"

She cried out unintelligibly, and the portals trembled closed a little. No, no, she'd had enough, too much-

"Then stop." His voice was suddenly cold, threatening, with no mocking sweetness to it.

Blink's eyes narrowed. She let go of the matter around her, and it settled right back into place, the portals gone. Clarice, unlike last year, didn't crumple to the floor of their containment unit. She stood, hands clenched, on her weak legs, in defiance of the torture. Didn't matter that she'd been ready to give up, she thought, she knew she wouldn'ta begged if they'd kept on, and she could still stand. They wanted to see her broken, but she wasn't gonna break for 'em, wasn't gonna lie there in defeat. Not this hour.

The collar around her neck activated, depriving Blink of her teleportation abilities while keeping her physical mutation intact. Then door was opened by McCoy. One look-over, and a positively delighted smirk spread across his face, sharp teeth showing. He even chuckled.

"What'sgot your funny bone, McCoy?" the other one asked. Clarice set her jaw as she heard him come closer. His voice was gruff and slimy, pitched just a little too high.

"Come look! Our little long-term's still got plenty of fight left, it seems," the dark mutant mused, examining their 'patient' with a keen, violent interest. She refused to shudder.

The other one came into view. He was all arms and head, hairy, smelly, grimy and slobbering. His gross and appalling demeanor made him even more disconcerting than McCoy, at least in Blink's sight. Both geniuses, both brutes of the highest degrees, both murderers of the masses, but Sugar Man was disgusting, while McCoy had held a certain civility even after he became the Dark Beast.

"Doesn'tit have the same strength as a human?" the great dungheap spat out the word 'human' like a mouthful of vomit.

"So it does," his associate nodded admittedly, grin growing as he went on, "-but apparently greater endurance."

Sugar Man cackled until his eyes ran. "Isthat what you do in your spare time, McCoy?" he said, clear mocking in his tone. "Fuckthe patients?"

Henry arched a disapproving brow at the other scientist. "That would be incredibly unprofessional, not to mention boring. Have you ever fucked a completely helpless sack of tears- no, actually, I don't suppose _you've_ ever copulated with anyone at all," he taunted in the most thoughtful of tones. 

Sugar Man snarled and one of his arms grabbed McCoy by the hair, other by the throat, and yet another fisted and posed to aim a punch at the Beast's face. Henry had the audacity to laugh smugly when he was shoved against the containment unit and barked at.

Clarice looked past the arguing scientists at the door at the other end of the lab. What if she were to sneak past them and make it to that door? Could she get past the guards? Out of the pens?

Would it be so awful to try?

McCoy was being droll as she snuck by, Sugar Man becoming more infuriated, neither paying attention. She dodged behind a gurney, peaked out to make sure they weren't looking, and then made a run for the door.

"Whatyou want last words before I strangle your pitiful existence outta ya?"

"No, you nitwit-" Henry snapped, gasping a breath and clawing the arm that had just come off his neck. "-the _subject_ is escaping!"

"Huh?" the other grunt-snorted, looking past McCoy into the empty containment unit. Blink struggled with the lab door's handle, frustration filling her as she fought with the lock and the two villains scrambled for something. Just as she figured it out and got it open, had an arm already outside the lab, there was a snarl right behind her and very familiar furred fingers grabbed her by the back of the neck.

"No! Let go-!" she shouted, kicking the best she could. 

"Clarice, I never did like children," Henry said, sounding extremely bored. "And I especially dislike children who throw tantrums."

"I don't _care_ , let me _go_! Let me-"

A solid _thump_ stopped the girl's screaming immediately, causing her to go limp and fall out of the Beast's grip and onto the floor.

Henry turned and glared at Sugar Man, who was still holding the wooden mallet.

"What?It was hurting my ears!"

"You couldn't have found a less potentially-fatal way to shut it up? Something along the lines of a spiked gag and some pliers?"

"Excuseme for not knowing right away where a _spiked gag_ is in your junk-shop of a laboratory," he snapped back sarcastically. "Whatdo you care if it dies, anyways? Yougone _soft_ , McCoy?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he scoffed, folding his arms over his chest. " _I_ simply wish to keep powerful subjects alive for more intense study. _I_ don't waste patients randomly because of some minor inconvenience like your _poor sensitive ears_ hurting. Are you going to clean up your mess?"

Sugar Man grumbled and stalked past the unconscious girl, snatching her by the heel as he went and dragging her to a different confinement device. "Whatdo ya wanna do next? Wehave some spare time. Howsabout some surgery on them eyes? Beady little buggers creep me out."

"I have a better idea," Henry said, clapping his hands together loudly. "Something we can write off as pure mutation-related research..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I was reading AoA Epic Vol 2, and a group of people escape the pens: Newt, Pyro, Artemis, and Phantasia.  
> They all rejected placement in Apocalypse's ranks, and therefore were all imprisoned and tortured.  
> Artemis is a badass - not aesthetically pleasing, but that's irrelevant. She's more than alive and kicking, she's just about leading the group.  
> Allerdyce (an old fave of mine) is basically himself, but he's capable of creating his own fire. However, it burns his skin terribly.  
> Newt, there's not much on. He basically gets squished.  
> Phantasia...caught my interest. I looked her 616 version up: she's capable of manipulating energies such as electricity and magnetism, both controlling and disturbing them. At this point in 295, however, she's incredibly weak, and when her comrades call on her to help, she says that she has nothing left of her mutation, that "The Beast took everything". She's a liability - I believe it's Artemis who says they still won't leave her behind. I'll double check later. 
> 
> So anyways, all that to say...
> 
> Next chapter: Phantasia sharing a cell with Blink


	4. Stakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I started writing the Phantasia bit, but this came out instead. The rating explicit is for this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: violence, mention of blood, inhumane transport of people, swearing, mild gore, prison conditions similar to concentration camps, discrimination against transgender/transexual, graphic and non-sensual underage rape.  
> I think that's all.  
> This is the heaviest violence I've written so far. It's rather terrifying. Turn back if you're even a little unsure, okay?

There had been a trade-off. Clarice didn't know what, not for sure, but they had bet on something.

Had bet _her_ on something.

She was securely restrained against the wall of the prison transfer ship, one in a row of at least thirty. On the other side, there were another thirty patients. Between this wall and that, a hundred, hanging each from the ceiling by their arms, legs chained toward the floor to stop them kicking. The stench of unwashed human and mutant was thicker than Clarice had ever been in, thicker than the Pens. Gagging. Sweat, vomit, blood, urine, feces, harsh and bitter chemical-affected secretions.

It was hot, too. Boiling.

The weather in these parts must've been warm already. It amplified the body heat contained in the un-ventilated chamber - turned the place into a sauna.

Some of the prisoners were sedated. Some hadn't been provided clothes. Most were gagged. Some were still rigged to their torture implements - things like microwires took hours to remove. One man had lost his bladder to a tube attached to his penis. A woman with scars all over her hung not far from Blink. There was something attached to the top vertebra of her spine, a techy black thing that wiggled now and then like a worm trying to burrow deeper. She was gagged, but screamed whenever the thing moved.

A door opened, and a few guards came in. Clarice heard them through the mass of bodies.

The first voice was appalled, sounded like the man was about to be sick. "God, this place stinks." 

"Which wall is B?" a second voice asked.

"The one on the left, shit-for-brains." The third voice was harsher than the other two. "Come on, Lee, stand up. You can't tell us this is the worst you've ever seen."

Lee, the sick one, was shocked. "This isn't the worst _you've_ ever seen?"

The second voice, a higher pitch than the others, laughed wryly. "Jude's been in the middle of SM's disposals. This is nothing."

The three made their way through the bodies, closer to Clarice.

"What number is it supposed to be?" Lee asked.

"How come you don't fucking listen when you get orders?" Jude snapped.

"Number twelve," the second voice supplied.

They came into view. Well. More like they shoved at one of the hanging bodies to get a view. 

"Holy shit," Lee said, evidently staring at Clarice.

Another one smirked wide. "That's the one." He had Jude's voice.

"Come on, fellas, let's get this done," the second one said. Out of the three, he certainly looked the least mean.

They all approached. Clarice kept still while they released her, knowing that she'd get beaten if she struggled. She couldn't 'blink' away because of the collar on her neck - it didn't suppress her physical mutation, only her teleportation ability. She wasn't gagged, but she knew the guards' behavior well enough to know that at least one would bash her for asking what was going on.

"What the fuck is that?" Lee shouted suddenly. The second guard glanced at what had caught his colleague's attention.

"Aw, come on, Lee, leave it alone," he groaned as Lee poked at the bug-device on the scarred human's neck. The woman screamed. Clarice tensed, wishing she could fly at the men and tear them apart, make 'em stop hurting the woman. Jude clenched his hand around her arm in response, holding her roughly in place.

"Pink's interested in it," Jude chuckled. Lee smirked in response, turning to look at Clarice's glare and set jaw.

"Guys, SM's gonna get mad if we're gone too long," the second guard said, uncomfortable.

"It'll only be a minute," Jude snapped at him. "Shut up and grow a pair, Pat."

"It's Peter," he muttered, unheard.

Lee held the bug-thing between two fingers. With a sudden shout, covered by the scream wrenched from the woman, Lee yanked his hand away. "It goddamn moved!"

"Aw, Lee. Scared of a little tech?" Jude taunted.

Lee grit his teeth and grabbed it again, ignoring the agonized shriek, digging his fingers into the surrounding skin and holding onto the base of the device tightly. "Come on, you disgusting piece of-"

There was a loud _crack_ , a sizzle, and the woman's body suddenly went limp, her head fallen between her dislocated shoulders. Clarice scowled in disgust at Lee. The man was looking at the black equipment in his hand and the vertebra that it was attached to. The entire piece dripped with blood, and the bone was surrounded by tattered flesh.

"Oops," Jude shrugged. "Come on, we gotta go."

The bone-and-metal piece fell from Lee's hand onto the metal floor of the ship. Peter held Clarice's other arm, his grip much less painful than Jude's, and the two dragged her between them through the forest of shackled bodies. Lee followed behind them.

"It has to be the quietest bitch we've had on this route," Jude commented closer to the door, shoving Clarice forward. She caught her balance, not depending on the other guard's grip on her arm to catch her.

Lee whistled rudely from behind. "It's got a nice and round rump. You think we could get away with-"

"Not until he's done," Jude said through his teeth. "Then? Then we'll enjoy ourselves."

Peter was silent as he punched in the code for the door. 5-4-3-3-9-1. Clarice said it over and over again in her head, memorizing it in case it was ever useful. The task was a distraction from the prodding the guard behind her was doing and the sickening conversation.

Blink was thrust into a very bright light - the storage area had been so dark - and she shut her sensitive eyes tightly, felt the grips on her arms again. When she opened up just a little, it was still too bright. She was being dragged over a grate in the floor. Again, too bright, but her vision was adjusting. She could make out another door. She was shoved through that one. The light was a little less here, so her eyes focused more, rested on the clip on a hanging length of chain.

Clarice had been through a lot over the last six years. While she refused to physically quake for the captors to see, she still felt sick from fear sometimes. Never when she knew exactly what was happening, what was going to happen, and how much pain the happening would cause. Then, she could brace and prepare herself.

This had never happened.

Jude clipped the chain to her collar. The click rang in the young woman's ears like a clap of thunder. She opened her eyes again, and realized what this was.

Just in time for frigid cold water to hit her. She cried out a little in shock. It was nice, though freezing, to be clean. But the hose down was humiliating.

"Alright, that's enough-" Peter interrupted when they turned her around and paid too much attention to her lower back. Clarice let herself bite her lip when they weren't looking.

The spray stopped abruptly, heavy footsteps pounding over to Peter's voice. "What's the problem, Pat?" Jude's voice snapped. "You've been sulking this whole time. You don't like how the other girls are treated? Then don't watch."

"Hey, Jude-" Lee started. "Jude, he's not a female-"

"Shut the _fuck_ up!" the other guard yelled at him. "We have _orders_. Get the filthy bitch clean!"

Clarice shivered from the cold, trying to block out the yelling and the approaching footsteps. She felt hands on her sides, felt them pulling away the scarce rags that covered her, and felt panicked. 

"You know what?" Peter's voice said bitterly, "I am not a fucking flatscan. Get your hands off me. _Call me_ by my _name_. Assign me the right _gender_. And don't refer to me in youngster terms, you mindless prick. Respect my fucking _rights_. Or, get suspended."

The water turned on again, hitting Clarice's back, running unobstructed where she didn't want it to.

"I'll respect your fucking rights when you do your fucking _job_ ," Jude said angrily. He stepped away from her. "Go on!"

Peter's footsteps approached her and his hand rested on her arm again. "Sorry about this," Clarice heard him mutter. She didn't respond as she was turned around. Sorry didn't help her much, did it?

She raised her frozen hands to cover her chest. She was laughed at, but she didn't really care what they thought. Jude's footsteps came behind her and he ripped her hands away, nudged her legs apart with his shoe. She pulled her arms and closed her legs, but he only did it again, more roughly, and she was still being hosed down.

The water finally stopped, Clarice unhooked and toweled dry. They gave her the towel to cover herself with and pushed her along to the door, to a room on the other side. They didn't follow her in.

Clarice looked around in confusion. There was a bed. Furniture. Well-sized. But-

The smell.

She quaked a little. She knew that smell.

She heard footsteps on the other side of the door and bolted, crawled under the bed. Clarice had to pull the towel back over herself. The door opened. Her heart pounded in her ears and she held her breath.

No. Not him. It wasn't-

"Ohlittle girl!" the voice, gruff, strangely-pitched, was unmistakable.

They had taken a bet.

 

They had bet _her_.

And McCoy had lost.

Clarice heard his footsteps come closer, closer to the bed. He was beside her.

"Iknow you're in here, sweet!" Sugar Man snorted and cackled. She shut her eyes tightly as if that would make him go away. She felt cold, paralyzed.

A sharp pain erupted along her scalp, and Clarice screamed. "Let go!" He had her _hair_ , he wass dragging her over the carpet. She was kicking and hitting nothing in a blind panic, aware only of the yank on her hair, the searing rug burn, and the mocking voice of the most repulsive man she'd ever seen.

"Nowsweet, you know I can't stand that awful noise you make." He shoved her against a wall and clamped one of his hands over her mouth.

Blink's eyes widened as she realized that the towel had come off during her struggle. She stared up at him, the oversized eyes, the huge mouth, his teeth pointy like a shark's.

"Bettermuch better."

He pressed against her and she shoved back, only to have her wrists twisted and slammed against the wall behind her. Sugar Man's eyes narrowed cruelly as he smiled, rows of yellowed teeth parting for his long tongue to snake out.

No, no- Clarice tried to disappear into the wall, tried to struggle, tried to blink. She couldn't do anything. Nothing. He was disgusting an'- She whimpered when it rubbed against her neck, slimy and rank. There was a hand under each of her thighs, forcing her legs open wide, and sharp nails scratched the inside of them. He finished tasting and cackled, old breath making her gag. There was so much going on- his last hand was in her hair and pulling again.

"You'reso much yummier when you're clean, sweet." His nails raked over her again and she yelped, felt blood trickle down her legs. "Nowthis can be painful. Oryou can cooperate like a good little girl and it'll be less painful."

Clarice blinked and her rapid breathing steadied a little, stopped trying to struggle.

She was listening.

He cackled, his body shaking with the laugh, and let go of her mouth to rid himself of the fabric he wore. "Ehehethere's absolutely nothing you can do, sweet. Thepain's half the fun of it all."

Clarice screamed as his shaft, thick and hard, thrust into her dry. She thought all of her insides would fall out through the painful tear she felt him make. Wet and slime curled around her neck - the wrong place, he was still thrusting dry - looped and curled, looped and curled. She tried to turn her head and get away from the tip of his tongue, but received a tiny, briefly stunning shock for her effort, and it stroked over her cheek and jaw. 

As soon as the stun faded, she became aware of a tingling numbness down both legs, an ache in her lower back, and had to cry at the frightening force he used to fuck her. It hurt, a lot, all over-

"TellSugar Man you enjoy this, sweet," his gross voice said, taunted. Clarice turned wet black eyes to him. She despised that man this moment. She hated him more than she hated any of the guards, more than Sinister and McCoy. Her mouth set in a straight line. She refused to say it.

She screamed as a new agony ripped through her, a worse one, much worse. He had just- he had- her head fell forward, and she was held up against the wall only by his tongue like a noose around her neck and his thrusts. And the hand which curved under her ass, forcing first two, then three, then four fingers in without lubricant, making Clarice feel that she was being shredded from her insides out.

His tongue slipped back and a gnarled hand replaced it on her slender magenta throat. "Simplysay it, girl. That'seasy enough, isn't it?"

His fingers pressed in deeper, pulled out, and then thrust all at once all the way back in, timed with a thrust from the front. She was leaking hot and thick fluid from both holes. She felt full and cold and paralyzed. And then tired.

Ever so tired.

Sleep fell on her like a balm, like a beautiful, wonderfully pitch black savior.

She woke up on the bed, next to another bloodied and bruised girl. It hurt to move at all. She fell asleep again.


End file.
